


Relax

by Hambone



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Banter, Explicit Consent, Frottage, M/M, Non-Romantic Relationship, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 10:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4345289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus and Megatron try to work something out between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relax

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for spacedrinks on my tumblr! It was a lot of fun figuring how these two would mesh. Thank you and enjoy!

 

“We’re not really doing this, right?”

 

Rodimus laughed awkwardly, kicking his legs into the air around Megatron’s waist. Not deigning the question real enough to warrant an answer, he continued to mark a path down Rodimus’s neck, gently collaring the cables that wove down his throat with the mark of his teeth. Rodimus was not the gangly youth he barely remembered meeting during the war, but his movements didn’t seem to have recognized the fullness of his new body yet and he scrambled against every available surface as though he still needed the support.

 

“We really are, aren’t we?”

 

Again, he did not answer. His hands found the sharp roll of Rodimus’s thighs, kneaded them. Despite his unsteady and humorless laugh, Rodimus bucked up into the touch, into him and away from the wall, and it sent a prickle of unexpected pride through his spark. Megatron had not had much time for interface at the end of things, certainly not with anyone he didn’t trust could kill him before he killed them. Rodimus was young and as untrustworthy as they came, at least in regards to himself, but he had come into this indulgence with that knowledge and had decided it was a leap of faith he was willing to take. After all, it had been eons since he had touched metal this sweet and willing.

 

“I’m only asking because it really seems like we’re doing this and I figured if you wanted to back out now was the chance.”

 

“You’re the one who invited me were to,” Megatron let the word slide out around the thin cable in his mouth, “talk. I thought I understood the meaning of your message well enough to be as prepared as I needed.”

 

Rodimus laughed again, a surprisingly unattractive laugh for someone with his general air of glamour, and his optics darted around suspiciously.

 

“That’s not what I mean,” and then he reached out with both hands to grab Megatron’s shoulders. In the position that he was in, lifted high to ride Megatron’s hips, it gave him the humorous advantage of height, and so the touch seemed almost patronly, the big to the small. “I just don’t want you thinking I’m taking advantage.”

 

“You think I believe you’re pulling rank.” He didn’t need to ask it.

 

Without much shame, Rodimus shrugged.

 

“You think,” Megatron continued, “that I would be so cowed by my conversion that I would agree to something as humiliating as that?” he laughed softly, and yet his whole body echoed the sound with motion, bouncing Rodimus on his stomach, “I know you are not stupid, despite your best efforts to convince us all you are.”

 

Rodimus spluttered and he used that as an excuse to kiss him again, deeply. He didn’t need to do anything fancy to make the connection of their mouths powerful; age and practice had taught him how to get results without tricks. Rodimus was a fighter though, and a simple smothering of his lips would not fully assuage him.

 

“W-ww-!”

 

Megatron tried to ignore it a second, since there was no active attempt to stop him, but then a hand was tagging his neck away and he was forced to acknowledge the struggle. They broke apart cleanly, but the way Rodimus was panting suggested filth anyways.

 

“Wait a klik, you s-stooge!”

 

“Excuse me?” his lips quirked upwards.

 

“I dunno, I’m trying to speak old-timer so you’ll understand me better.” Rodimus crossed his arms for a moment and then regrabbed Megatron’s chest as he started falling backwards. “You’ve got this whole ‘I’m not really trapped in here’ kind of attitude going on, and yeah, great, I get that. But you also know that yeah, actually, you are trapped here, because unless you plan on living outside all civilization for the rest of your existence you have to play it straight. And you know at least, like, half the people here are not exactly happy with you still being alive.”

 

“And the point of this inane ramble is?”

 

He knew the point, but he was beyond admitting that. His high was beginning to cool and he let his thumbs roll gently against Rodimus’s pelvis to remind him that he was still in the captain’s office and not a Cybertronian brig.

 

“The point,” said Rodimus, shifting into the touch with a ghost of a smile, “is that if I was a terrible person, which I’m not, I could suggest that you had assaulted me or something if you refused me and get you in a world of hurt. Which I don’t want to do! If you think that’s what’s going on here, it isn’t.”

 

He had to give Rodimus a few points for clarity. It was true; he did completely understand that the situation he was describing was a possibility. He didn’t fully expect that level of subterfuge from someone as lead by emotions as the ship’s captain, but simultaneously it left a nice taste to their next kiss just to have heard him say that. Sweet, almost, but even as a poet Megatron was not prone to describe things with such fluff and so he left the thought alone.

 

“Thank you for your concern,” he said, shifting his grip lower until it cupped Rodimus’s aft, “but I think I can make my own choices about who I do and do not wish to sleep with.”

 

“Classy.”

 

Rodimus wriggled into his hands and he felt a strange surge of youthful pluck, just enough to give him a playful squeeze.

 

“So,” he said, giving Rodimus a pointed look, “shall we proceed?”

 

“As you wish.”

 

A wink. How charming.

 

This time when they kissed it was all out. None of that tentative passion Rodimus had toyed with before – he opened his mouth and moaned like a slut. It was nice to know he had a little self-control. Megatron was strong and Rodimus wasn’t particularly heavy, but he had been holding him against the wall too long and it was becoming uncomfortable. He invented deeply, locking his joints, and then pushed off, bracing Rodimus to his chest until the backs of his knees hit that unfortunately pink desk. He let them buckled, sitting back until he was comfortably on the metal, not quite thick enough to keep from creaking under their combined weight, and pulled Rodimus into his lap solidly.

 

“Comfortable?”

 

“You do talk too much.”

 

Instead of sealing his vocalizer with a kiss Megatron nipped along his jaw, preferring the raw sounds of enjoyment that produced in the place of words. Rodimus laughed anyways, pushing his hips downward, letting Megatron feel the heat of his inner thighs along his leg.

 

“That’s what th-they say.”

 

“And yet you persist.”

 

Megatron bit along his crown hard enough to leave punctures. It wasn’t exactly a sensitive spot but Rodimus still felt it and he still yelped, open mouthed, and moved as if he were trying to struggle away, or closer, clearly not meaning either. His interface paneling was hot, trembling with the first hints of the need to transform inward and reveal what lay beneath. Megatron was used to that, the neediness barely disguised for modesty’s sake. People often threw themselves at him, whether for true desire or for power plays or for the notoriety of it. Rodimus, however, had the unique taste of half hatred half respect that reminded him of another lover he had once entertained in bantering, clawing interface. Surprisingly the memory did not turn him off whatsoever.

 

Digging in his fingers, Rodimus tilted his helm back more, the previous lines of his own teeth creating an enticing target around his throat.

 

“Come on then, big bot, show me what you’re made of.”

 

“A fast talker _and_ impatient?” Megatron thrust his hips upward, catching Rodimus’s panel against his thigh and rubbing it, “attractive features, really.”

 

“Sarcasm not appreciated, but accepted,” Rodimus ground out through his grin, not losing stride in the slightest. He pushed his hips downward, wrapping his arms around Megatron’s broad neck and pulling them chest to chest so he could continue to ride his leg.

 

“Hmm.”

 

Megatron growled lowly, almost smiling.

 

“That’s it then? You and my leg?”

 

Rodimus huffed happily. “I’ll take it where I can get it.”

 

“Oh? A dashing captain like yourself, willing to fend for scraps?”

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

 

He grabbed Rodimus’s hips, stilling them a moment and making him whine until he pulled him down again, this time to straddle his hips as he finally spread his legs and allowed some access to his own charging interface array.

 

“What an overused line.”

 

“Overused because it works!”

 

Seeming to have deemed it enough, Rodimus let his crotch plate shift and split and his spike bobbed up between his legs, curving and ringed with gold. Megatron knew he had exposed his valve too, could smell the spice of his lubricant, but it was hidden by the way he leaned forward to prod his plug into Megatron’s belly.

 

“Come on,” he purred, rubbing one of his yellow hands down the front of Megatron’s groin, searching for seams, “let me see yours.”

 

Megatron considered drawing out the verbal foreplay, but there didn’t seem much point in it now, given how antsy Rodimus could get if his plans weren’t met. He parted his own plating and let his spike free. It was only about half pressurized at this point, age and years of experience softening the impact their play had on him, but Rodimus let out and appreciative chirp anyways.

 

“Big boy!”

 

“What does this juvenile chatter earn you, really?”

 

He leaned back on his elbows as Rodimus cupped him, running both hands down the sides of his shaft.

 

“I am what I am,” he shrugged, and then he scooted forward ion Megatron’s thighs (likely leaving an unfortunate scrape of his gaudy paint along them) and pressed their spikes together between his palm and fingers.

 

“Oh! That’s good.”

 

Rodimus bucked a little involuntarily, grinding upwards again the next klik with a soft sigh. His optics had shuttered closed mouth open in a look of peaceful concentration. It was nice, honestly. Rodimus was a rare type to see with any expression other than overzealous excitement or exaggerated rage. One could almost imagine what he looked like relaxed. Perhaps the tense lines around his cheek would fade slightly, the tilt of his jaw aligning properly as he let the joints unwind.

 

Catching himself lost in a fantasy beyond the limits of the berth, Megatron almost laughed. He _was_ getting old.

 

“What are you giggling about?”

 

Apparently it had been enough to alert his current partner, who smiled down at him as if he’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been. Deciding honestly was the best policy in this one case, Megatron lifted his hips a bit to unbalance Rodimus and gave him his own shrug back.

 

“I was appreciating seeing you look almost sincere about something.”

 

Rodimus pouted, slipping his thumb around the head of Megatron’s spike and spreading the prefluid downwards.

 

“I’m always sincere.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Despite the distraction he was actually becoming quite pressurized, spike firmly towering against Rodimus’s own. He pushed them together again, reaching down to wrap his own hand over Rodimus’s. Their optics met a moment, the challenge glinting clear between them, and then, together, they moved. It wasn’t smooth, the size difference between them making it difficult to get full pressure on them both, but it was good, heat building fast.

 

 That was the pace he set, for a while. Rodimus rose and fell into the touch with a nice but not unexpected fluidity, face set in a slow concentration. He was actually surprised more by the fact that he did at last take silence to spark, not so much as breathing heavily as they worked the pleasures up together. He had imagined, the several times he allowed the thoughts to breach his consciousness, that interface with Rodimus would be a more wild beast, with the captain either trying to play the experienced cool leader or the fiery slut. Instead he was almost cautious. Well, cautious wasn’t exactly the right word, Megatron realized, as the caution had only been in relation to his consent. Now it was more of a relaxation, one that was difficult to recognize for what it really was.

 

“Oh,” Rodimus breathed, rolling his shoulders and picking up the pace. Megatron could really smell him now, the neat rolling off him enough to shimmer in the air around his hips. His hand not curled around their spikes was resting on Rodimus’s thigh, assisting the in rocking, but now he slid it down, around his red aft and between his thighs from behind. It wasn’t a far reach and the dampness met his fingers fast. Rodimus jumped, not as he had been but with surprise, and opened his optics.

 

“Hey now…”

 

The pace was lost, but Megatron continued, slipping two of his fingers to gently rub between the folds of Rodimus’s valve. He couldn’t see it still but the feeling was nice, very soft, very slick.

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

“No,” Rodimus said slowly, stilling, “I just didn’t expect you to go for that.”

 

Megatron quirked a brow.

 

Choosing to ignore the unspoken question Rodimus finally moved back, settling his hips in a way that made the fingers press into his valve more easily, and began to rock his hips again, urging the stilled hand above him to move again. He didn’t seem at all unwilling but there was an odd reluctance now, like he expected something Megatron was unaware of.

 

Apparently his face showed his thoughts because, without losing his rhythm, Rodimus grunted softly and did something akin to a shrug as he kept his hands moving.

 

“I mean, it’s not a big thing, I just –ah- I just don’t think I want you to spike me.”

 

“Who said anything about that?”

 

Megatron rubbed his fingers down farther between Rodimus’s valve lips, finding the small bead of his external node and circling it tenderly. Rodimus laughed a little, half gasping.

 

“No one, trick question. But you’re reaching around back there and, uh,” Megatron could feel a small shudder in his calipers as he pinched the nub, smiling, “I just figured it was the course of action you had in- in mind.”

 

Rumbling low in his chest, Megatron looked him over. Rodimus was beaded with small drops of condensation, radiating heat, managing to remain composed even as his body betrayed his feelings. His optics, however, were clear as day.

 

“There is no need to take a course of action that is not pleasurable to us both.” Megatron did not smile, but perhaps Rodimus knew better than to think he needed to see one to feel one, and he blew out a gush of hot air from his vents.

 

“I didn’t think so.”

 

And the smirk was back, along with a bout of enthusiasm he had apparently been holding back. Megatron could actually feel the pulse of Rodimus’s spike as he angled his hips backwards, bouncing up and down to facilitate their frotting without disrupting the swirl of the fingers on his node. It was a fairly skillful move compared to his earlier grinding, not to downplay how pleasant that had been. Freed of his anxieties, however, he pursued climax with what could only be described as real talent, and it was with an even greater brand of mild surprise that Megatron realized he was following just as quickly.

 

It wasn’t that the actual stimulation was too great for him; while quite nice, there was only so much a hand around his spike could do, and while Rodimus’s undulations above him and quite nearly around his fingers was certainly nice to watch he was by no means desperate enough to succumb to the sight of it. He simply felt relaxed. Their coupling wasn’t a war, a fight even. Rodimus, despite his somewhat rightful dislike of Megatron initially, was fully enjoying himself, and had opened the opportunity to interface with as much care and excitement as Megatron could imagine he would give to someone who hadn’t tried to blow him in half a few stellar cycles ago. That was something he hadn’t experienced in… in so long.

 

His spike twitched twice and then a small fountain of silvery transfluid spurted from the tip, not a surprise but nonetheless not expected, nice, relaxed, and unplanned overload washing up through his circuitry like a wave. Rodimus barked out what might have started as a moan and jerked into it, rubbing their spikes together almost too hard as he furiously tried to follow suit.

 

Honestly, he didn’t have to try as hard as he did. Megatron, through his mild daze, had the clarity to stroke down Rodimus’s nub a few more times in tune to the slightly erratic stroking around his spike, still pressed close to Rodimus’s own, and Rodimus gaped soundlessly, bucking back. His own released was angled in such a way that much of it splashed over Megatron’s stomach to join his own, already cooling along his thick plating. Rodimus seemed to be boiling in comparison, shaking as a few errant jets of lubricant trickled onto his hand, the deep red cusp of his valve just barely between his straining thighs.

 

Rodimus did not collapse forward but back, puling himself up off the desk to stand with his hands braced against it, breathing slowly. He was not looking up, but Megatron could hear his grin.

 

“So what do we call this?”

 

Megatron, still reclined, let his optical shutters slip shut.

 

“I don’t see why we should call it anything.”

 

“I just mean, Magnus is gonna wanna know why you were in here for like,” Rodimus paused to check his chronometer, “over a cycle.”

 

Uncaring, Megatron waved a hand to swat away the thought like a bug.

 

“Call it what you like then.”

 

Rodimus was moving. He didn’t bother to look.

 

“How about ‘team building’?”

 

He did look then, just to see the way Rodimus stood with his arms crossed and his teeth showing as if his thighs weren’t streaked with fluid.

 

“I am _not_ on your team.”

 

 “Suuure.”

 

“You,” he said, closing his eyes again, “are a nightmare.”

 

“And you’re a real dream yourself.”

 

Finally, he smiled.

 


End file.
